Still To The Core
by meepusdeletus
Summary: Lovino was always broken, but now he's tired, so tired. He won't let the sweet relief slip through his fingers, he will use every last bit of energy to finally go. To finally stop feeling.
1. Chapter 1

He sighed, his hazel eyes shifted around the street. The smell of food hit his nostrils, the people walked around, he could feel everything. Soon these people wouldn't be his anymore. Soon he would rip his frail body from the strings he was tied to. He had nothing to lose anymore.

But his brother, his poor brother, the crushing weight of people that weren't necessarily his suddenly be part of him. To be representing all of the pain and misery his people went through. He vaguely remembered what it was like. When grandpa Rome ceased to exist, he had to take on the weight of Rome.

His brother was always stronger than he was. As air headed as he was, he was unrelenting, the true essence of Italy, he wasn't infested with fugitives and organised crime syndicates, poverty and desolation, his brother knew how to make Italy as sophisticated as France, as passionate as Spain.

Walking home, dreaming of the sweet sound of "fratello" and "tomato" made him feel light. Mortal wounds could kill nations in isolated events. He would live regardless of battle and poverty, a curse. Such a cruel curse. But it could work. He could be free and human. Lovino instead of Romano._ Italian_ instead of Italy. _Mortal_ instead of immortal._ Himself_ instead of his people.

"Lovi~" Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he stood on the pavement. Spain rapidly approaching him.

"Antonio." Not Spain, not tomato bastard, just Antonio.

"Lovi what's wrong?" Lovino went to ignore him and walk away but Antonio grabbed his arm. He winced at the strong grip.

"Lovino, tell me whats wrong." Lovino could hear the authority in his voice.

"F-fuck off, you bastard, go plant some tomatoes or someshit!" Lovino felt like he was swallowing a piranha, the need for air was taking over his body.

"Lovino, that isn't going to work this time, who did this to you?"

"M-me." Using Spains momentary shock and confusion, he launched into a sprint, ignoring the pain in his chest, ignoring the pain in his legs, all he felt was the excruciating desire to run, if he didn't move, he felt like he would've collapsed and screamed out. If this was what life was. He wanted out.

Fumbling for his keys, he ran into his house and turned around to lock his door.

His knees buckling. He felt like he couldn't move, like he would be left to starve in the dark corner of his mind. He needed to do it now, it couldn't wait, it was the last thing he would ever do so he needed to do it right. He used his hands and knees to crawl into the bathroom and reached towards the razor blades, his hand could not reach them, like something was holding him back, like maybe he was going to regret it, like this could hurt something bigger than him. Like how Spain would cry, how Italy would wail and scream for him back. But Italy would have better things, for once Potato Bastard, no matter how much pain he had caused as The Holy Roman Empire, would look after him. Spain had the Bad Touch Trio. Both had the whole world loving them.

But he had no one who would miss him. Only he could put himself out of his misery.

Edging the blade closer, it dug into his skin, he took a deep. Breath and dragged it down his arm. He screamed out in pain. Ugly sobs racked his body, the garnet colour seeping through the cracks in the tiles. He did another and another and another. The sobs got louder. The white hot pain engulfed his senses as he glanced at his mangled wrists, the greasy muscle and tissue created a grotesque caricature. It looked ugly. No amount of gothic poems could make the sheer horror of the situation beautiful. It was never supposed to be so ugly. Romantic like the renaissance, bloody like the war.

He leapt into a pit of cold, unforgiving obsidian


	2. Chapter 2

The sun is actually nothing special, the ancients believed it to be the most important thing, time and science has proved that the sun is in fact just one of the many stars in the sky, just closer to us. There are bigger stars out there.

The bathroom was streaked with red going brown. Spain felt nauseous, the tiles were outlined in crimson and the body splayed out on it seemed inches away from death. All fragility was destroyed by the rough passionate red streaked across _his_ Romanito's normally tan cheeks.

The silence was broken when Italy let out a yell. Shaking, he kneeled on the ground, shaking his brother. Spain leapt into action, moving the screaming Italy out of the way. Turning Romano's head to the side, checking for a pulse, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found one. He smiled. Romano was a fighter, even when he didn't want to be. Italy was already on the phone to the emergency services, yelling and what really caught Spains attention was the pure anger and frustration written on his face. The furrowed brows and the bloody clothes looked so out of place on him.

"Please, hurry, my fucking brother could be dead!' And thats when Spain realised what was happening, Italy was slowly starting to represent Romano's people. His little tomato was dying. The gravity of the situation pulled him down from the adrenaline infested cloud he was on. Somewhere he hoped Rome was seeing just what was occurring.

Rome was formerly his city, but he still felt it, the fall of something, the sharp pain in his chest, like he was losing something special to him. He realised. He needed to see his grandsons quickly. The pain was getting worse, but he could not hear his peoples screams and cries. He could hear a voice, a voice that said shocking and disturbing things, and he realised that it was Romano's voice.

"No one will miss me."

"I'll go quietly, no one will need to cry."

"I don't want to be a nation."

"What if Spain doesn't care?"

"I can finally die in peace and my fratelino can have my half."

"I'm a failure, I can't even make my people happy."

"What would it feel like if I drank that, no it takes too long."

"I'm scared of what I'm doing to myself."

"I'm selfish, expecting someone to notice out of the blue."

"I'm such an attention seeker but the minute I get some, I run away."

"I can never be as good as him."

"No wonder grandpa Rome never loved me, I'm good for nothing scum."

"Why can't I be nice for once."

"Save me, I won't save myself."

"I can't."

He wanted, no, needed to visit his grandson, even if it could be for the last time. The thought that he could fade away was taking big bites out of him. The bottomless regret he felt. Maybe if he paid a little more attention, then this would have never happened. The boy was broken, and now he was something he should've never been. A dying man.

Now, seeing him sprawled on the floor, his brother screaming in pure agony, like someone had ripped his heart in two and stepped on it, Spain, who looked so hauntingly beautiful at that point, cupping cold cheeks, he knew that this was his biggest regret.

He came up behind them, materialising suddenly. Shoving Spain out of his way and kneeling in front of Romano, he held his hand.

"Grandpa, you're here," Italy cried. He fell into Rome's embrace. "We need to take him to hospital, we need to take Lovi to the hospital, he's dead grandpa!" The rest of the time went through in a blur. All he was aware of was the emptiness he felt when he realised that he was alone in his grandsons living room and Spain and Italy weren't there. He was alone again.


	3. Chapter 3

Prussia had gotten the call from Germany, to be completely honest, he wasn't very surprised. It didn't seem like such a big shock, Prussia may have been obtuse but he could see exactly what was happening. The signs of depression had been stark against the olive skin. He knew what was going on, and he knew that it was impossible to stop, regardless of any kind of intervention. Prussia chuckled at how cliche it was, as if it was from a PSA for depression.

He looked at the view before him. The trees danced morosely in the wind and the wind was cold, bitter like a past lover. The buildings looked as if they would either snap with a simple touch or eat him up. The people walked around him. Guess no one listened to those PSAs. How could the people continue to live, to feel, when their essence, the thing that made up them, their personalities, their feelings, could cease to.

Prussia felt strangely sad, with his arrogance and crude demeanor, he felt heartbroken for the half nation, not being as good as his brother, stuck in a cycle where he couldn't be better even if he tried, the fact that he was tortured with so many secrets that caused him to hate, to loathe, he couldn't explain himself. But Prussia felt a sort of irrational anger, there were people much worse off, how could he hurt so many people he cared about, how could he be so selfish to leave Spain with the remnants of bittersweet memories.

Lovino had died.

Almost.

He was almost dead, he could've been in a coffin, with his little brother crying over him, begging him to come back. Lovino was nearly dead, all of his humanity, what made him Lovino rather than south Italy was marred by the depression, what made him a human, the love, the fierce passionate love was gone and replaced by a deep sadness that was not human, that was too painful to make him feel normal. Prussia wanted to kill him, put him out of his misery right there and then, to run and find him, to shake him,. He was disgusted with the intrusive and dark thoughts he was having.

Maybe that shell of a being hated Germany because Germany was the Holy Roman Empire, maybe it was because he truly loved his brother and would do anything to protect him. Maybe that shell loved Spain, maybe he was scared of admitting his feelings. Maybe he would take a bullet for Spain. But maybe the person pulling the trigger was himself. Maybe he was the one who looked after Spain when he was in difficulty. He knew what happened with The Roman Empire, he knew that he preferred Italy, he knew that he took Italy on his last day, and even when Italy got all of the gifts and the prosperity, Romano had gotten the harsh sun, the eyes that had seen death, the crumbling city, a cruel reminder of his inferiority. He was furious with Rome. Yes he may have visited, but he was sure that he never confronted him. Somehow he knew that everything was going to go to Hell and that he couldn't stop it.

He expected himself to vanish before anything else. Romano was only half a nation, the less prosperous and latter part of a nation. The part of a nation that could be lived without. He was the part that could die, yet his people did not fall.

"America."

"I came as soon as I could." He was panting slightly and Prussia could make out some red around his eyes. Prussia just knew how many people secretly _cared_, who loved and remembered and adored from far. The anger returned again, its toned arms grabbing Prussia's shoulders.


	4. Chapter 4

AN/ hello, I suppose I haven't updated very often, exams and all that but here it is haha, I could be experimenting with some different past pairings

The cold antiseptic smelling room was so different to the warm, yet sad tones of the waiting room. He wished he could feel anything apart from that restrictive shock, as if he would be restrained and sedated if he was too emotional, as if he was disturbing a balance and as if he was going to crack at any minute. Like if he was too monotone they would hold his hands loosely and guide him to a room full of madmen but in his millennia of life, he never once thought that he would be seeing someone that he loved precariously teetering on the edge of disappearing. That person couldn't disappear, too many people had disappeared and left them but he was always constant, regardless of separation. He gingerly took the hand feeling angry, if something so drastic was going to be carried out, why had it not been done correctly, he wished his brother could be out of his misery than stuck in a godawful place half dead. He finally cracked, one tear falling and a wave of love hitting him, why him? The doctors could take him to the psych ward if they wanted. He couldn't let his brother disappear.

America had turned up, the person who had made his roaring twenties almost deafening, he needed to see him. He savoured the taste of pasta and the smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of shots. He supposed that the image of skin against skin couldn't be erased because no matter how much of a mess the blood made, the jazz cigarettes evoked a deep feeling in him, that man was his air, he felt alive with those brown tendrils in his fingers and sharp hazel antagonising him in his own home until he just snapped and pinned him against those satin sheets. The gun against his head and the heat radiating off the pot. It had been a simple one, short and hot. But the day he moved out, America had broken down, choking sobs, for once, England coming to his aide but crying too because apparently short romances hit home for him. He was sitting in the chair, messing with his thumbs, sitting farther from the others, they knew that man better than he did. Did they love him like he did?

An entire eternity was spent waiting. The concept of time felt non existent, passive, as if then were suspended in some time loop, ripping through the galaxy through the pink and blue and through the stars, as if the very thought of death brought everyone down with him. The silence was broken as Italy was pulled aside. The silence was broken with Spains heavy breathing, what would the future hold? What would happen after one second, and after the next, would Spain snap? Would he walk out, the mystery was killing him.

Italy came back into the room, tears down his soft cheeks, sniffling softly. The sniffles became louder until they became loud sobs, wracking his small frame. He slowly opened his mouth, hesitated momentarily, took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself, moving up his arm to gingerly wipe his tears. He seemed to focus on Spain as he tried to say what he was saying. The sense of foreboding was amplified in the room as everyone waited for Italy to say something, to stop stalling. Italy seemed to hesitate again and finally with an eerie tranquility he opened his mouth.

"He's alive but, but he won't make it." His voice cracked as he fell to his knees, wailing.


	5. Chapter 5

Sweet Romano, when he had first appeared, Rome could not handle the fact that he was dying. He ignored the boy and the little attention he gave him was negative. As his hair fell out and the scars took seconds longer to heal, he tried to pay more attention to the boy. It was too late, nothing could fix what had been done. When his little Veneziano appeared, it felt like god had given him a sign to stop fighting the inevitable. His greatest failure was keeping Romano safe and happy.

Rome cried, how could he have raised Hispania, Britannia and Gaul's son so well but have failed with his own grandson. He looked at Hispania. He was glaring at Rome, the fury was radiating off him, he was no longer a snivelling young child. He was tall, his chestnut brown hair falling on his forehead and his angry green eyes throwing poison at him.

"I raised him, how could I sit there and watch as the person I love fucking throws his life away."

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"I don't care, do you know how much pain and misery he went through, do you know how many times I had to sit by him watching his little body shake under the bed because he wished he was as good as his brother, you even failed at raising Veneziano, do you know how scared they are of being alone, do you know how terribly you prepared both of them for life. You were so scared, you couldn't tell fucking Greece about what happened to his mother and how him and Romano were related, you robbed me, them, us of a childhood, even England, you slaughtered his mother in front of him, you failed everyone around you!"

"Listen, I raised you, do not speak to me like that, I cannot change the past, in a way you failed him, Hispania!"

"Don't call me that, my name is Spain. You have no power, you're just a legend, you have no power over me, nada." And those poisonous eyes glazed over slightly, the tears fell.

Spain fell to his knees and sobbed, Rome crouched down and gingerly wrapped his arms around Spain, unsure if he would be pushed off. He looked straight ahead at the light aurbun curl protruding from the wall. Smiling slightly, he knew there was nothing to hide anymore, everyone was against him. He couldn't care anymore. He only cared about his Romano, his flesh and blood, his poor grandson. His poor grandson whose life he had effectively ruined.

"Vene, come out." Italy peeked his head out, his cheeks had a slight red tint.

"Grandpa, why?"

"I don't know."

"No, you do know, he was Italy once, before I was born, he was supposed to be your successor but you starved him of something simple, now he is going to disappear, everyone disappeared but I always knew he was there, even though we were separated, I always knew I had something left of you."

Rome realised that he was alone again. His power was really nonexistent now, the only thing he was now was a grandfather, he could feel Germania's sense of superiority, he could hear the "told you so"s. He cried out of pure frustration.


	6. Chapter 6

AN/ I have decided to take a more narrational approach to this story so less musing and more plot

It felt like they were jolted back into reality rather than their own affairs just floating around.

Italy was holding Romano's hand, keeping a loose grip, he was still scared of squeezing too hard and something going wrong. There were bandages around Romano's arms, some blood seeping through. His exposed chest was cold to the touch. Italy could see the faint ghost of a smile on his parted lips. His dark hair made the the sickly yellow of his skin even more apparent. The pink of his cheeks were replaced by a thin chalky white sheet. Italy couldn't get the image of his brother on the floor out of his head. Then he looked more alive, painted with red. For once Italy wished that the bitter whiny Romano was here instead of that silent mannequin.

It had been a week, a week since the incident and Spain was becoming more desperate. He hadn't slept or eaten in days, he was just watching, waiting for a sign. His head in his hands. He felt like he was sinking, Romano was like his child, even now, and the thought of the person he raised being near death gave him a sick feeling in his stomach.

And so then it felt like a miracle when it happened.

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Lovino struggled to open his eyes, the lights were too bright. His eyes felt overwhelmingly dry and there was something that was down his throat, he tried to take a breath but the contraption was doing it for him, he started to splutter and choke and he could feel someone holding his hand and trying to get him to calm down but he couldn't breathe and he was coughing out saliva. Soon, more hands started to poke and prod at him and hands wrapped around his cheeks, he wanted to cry as the dry plastic rubbed across his throat as it was being pulled out.

He could breathe again.

Once the tests were done, he was alone again and he had time to reflect on what happened. He felt stupid, why couldn't he have done it right. He felt selfish, why did the people who found him have to see that. He felt disgusting, he ruined his life as a nation and hurt his people. The tears started to fall and he bowed his head. The door opened and his brother walked in, that was when the sobs became louder. Immediately his brother ran to him and started to cry too.

"Why, what possessed you to do this?"

"I'm sorry."

"You did this to yourself and you can only say sorry?"

"I just, god I'm sorry."

"You could have died, you were so close, so close and I'm so happy that you're alive!"

"I'm going to fix this."

"I can't bear to lose you again."

Italy was shaken up, someone else had nearly disappeared. He felt like everyone was leaving. To see his brother on the very edge of death reminded him of how precious life was. It was ok that the Holy Roman Empire wasn't going to come back, he had Germany. It was ok that his grandpa only visited, Romano was the only thing he had to remember him by.

And so it was, so many loose ends, so much time. But in that moment nothing mattered, and at that moment Romano felt loved


End file.
